


cross your heart to take me when you leave

by the_one_that_fell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, and others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:32:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4271919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy never just mean what they say; there's always something more, something deeper in their conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cross your heart to take me when you leave

**Author's Note:**

> written (a while ago) for a tumblr prompt: bellarke -- please don't leave

Clarke wasn’t sure when she and Bellamy began speaking in implications, but most of their daily conversations now contained double meanings. When she told him she needed more herbs for her medicines, he knew she also meant:  _Stop working everyone so hard_ . And when he’d tell her that they needed to double up guard duties, she also heard:  _The Grounders have been too quiet lately. Something’s wrong._ It wasn’t normal, Clarke decided, for two people who could barely stand each other to be able to communicate so effectively, but nothing about their situation was normal.

From what she could tell, it started shortly after Raven arrived on Earth. Separating herself from Finn might have been easier had Raven been cruel or obnoxious or stuck-up, but Raven was a smart, passionate, _nice_ person, and Clarke just couldn’t hate her. So she hated herself for being jealous and hated Finn for making her ‘the other woman.’ His betrayal hurt, and there was no one she could talk to about it, so Clarke did what she did best – she gritted her teeth and dealt with it.

That’s not to say it didn’t get difficult, sometimes. There was one night, when Clarke was stuck sitting directly across the campfire from the lovebirds. Monty sat to her right, Octavia to her left. The camp was celebrating something that night – a good hunt, or sunny weather, or the fact that no one had died, Clarke wasn’t sure. The moonshine was flowing free, and Clarke could tell Octavia was starting to feel the effects. The younger girl was resting most of her weight against Clarke’s shoulder, giggling loudly at whatever stupid joke Jasper was telling. Monty wasn’t any better, and kept tucking his head under Clarke’s chin, yawning every couple of minutes. Though she hadn’t planned to spend the night babysitting drunks, Clarke was grateful for the distraction.

Across the fire, Finn and Raven were cuddling, speaking quietly and intimately. Occasionally, Finn would duck down for a kiss, and every time it was a blow to Clarke’s heart. She busied herself, fussing with Jasper’s hair and forcing some of the kids to drink water, but as soon as her guard was down, Clarke’s eyes would wander back to the loving couple. Once or twice, Finn caught her gaze, but she never met his eyes, she couldn’t.

As the night grew darker and the fire died down, Jasper dragged Monty back to their tent, and Octavia fell asleep against Clarke’s shoulder. They weren’t close, Clarke and Octavia; Clarke wasn’t even sure Octavia liked her. But they had survived another day and the moonshine in their blood made them mellow, so Clarke was content to be a human pillow, if just for a moment. It made her just a little less lonely.

“Hey, O, time for bed.”

Bellamy appeared, crouching down in front of his sister. He shook her gently, holding her steady when she started awake.

“You need me to walk you back to your tent?” He asked, voice low and warm. Octavia wiped the sleep from her eyes and shook her head.

“Not a kid, Bell, I can put myself to bed,” she said, a little petulantly. Her words were slurred, thick with both sleep and alcohol. Bellamy chuckled, not unkindly.

“Sure, sure. Go get some sleep,” he stood and pulled Octavia to her feet, squeezing her shoulder once before sending her on her way. “Night, O.”

“Night, Bell,” she called back over her shoulder, stifling a yawn behind her hand. Once she had disappeared into her tent, Bellamy sat down in her place, giving Clarke the faintest of smiles.

“You could have woken her up, you know,” he said, voice still soft. Most of the camp had gone to bed, and those who were still out by the fire were close to sleep.

Clarke shrugged. “I didn’t mind. She looked tired.”

Bellamy let out a brief laugh. “You mean she looked drunk.”

Across the campfire, Finn had looked up, eyes narrowing as he saw Bellamy. A small, petty part of Clarke relished in the idea that he might be jealous, might think she’d already moved on.

“Well, I’m gonna go make the rounds, check on the guards,” Bellamy said, standing. Relief washed over Finn’s face, and Clarke, who wasn’t quite ready to stand on her own, grabbed Bellamy’s hand.

“Please, don’t leave,” she whispered. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, confused, but seemed to read the meaning behind the words: _I can’t be alone right now._

There was an amused grin on Bellamy’s face. “Never,” he said as he sat back down, his tone mocking and hinting of repressed laughter.

He looked over at where Finn sat with Raven, staring at Clarke, and pieced it all together, more or less. He scooted in closer to Clarke, so that their knees touched, and leaned in to talk to her, his mouth dangerously close to hers.

“Tell me this, Princess: are you in love with Spacewalker? Because I’d love to see what a fight between you and Reyes would look like.”

Clarke was starting to regret asking Bellamy to stay. “No, I’m not in love with him, but…he never mentioned her. Not once.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “And you had your future as Mrs. Spacewalker all planned out, huh?”

“Stop being such an ass,” Clarke snapped. “I wouldn’t have slept with him if I’d known he had a girlfriend.”

This took Bellamy by surprise. “You…and Spacewalker? Seriously?”

“What, you don’t think I’m capable of having sex?” Clarke asked, swaying a little. “I’m not always uptight, I can have fun, I _am_ fun!” She leaned in and whispered, almost conspiratorially. “I’m pretty good at it too, if I say so myself.”

“Alright, no more moonshine for you,” Bellamy said, looking startled and uncomfortable. “And I know you’re capable of having sex, I just pegged you for someone who would want…I don’t know, a real emotional connection. Romance. Commitment.”

Clarke looked back across the fire, where Finn and Raven were standing, hand-in-hand. She felt a lump rise in her throat, but pushed it back down quickly. “I do want that. I did…”

Grimacing a little, Bellamy patted her on the back. “Why don’t you head off to bed, Princess. Lots to do tomorrow.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she grumbled, and this made Bellamy laugh. “I’m going to bed, but only because I’m tired, not because you told me to, got it?”

“Whatever you say, Princess.” Clarke stomped off to her tent, stumbling a little on the way. Bellamy chuckled a little to himself, wondering when he started finding Clarke Griffin entertaining.

* * *

 

The next time Clarke noticed the nuances of her conversations with Bellamy was when Octavia came down with the flu. With winter approaching and the weather getter colder and damper, illness spread quickly and harshly through camp. It had started as a simple cold that virtually everyone caught; Clarke had spent a miserable week coughing and sniffling, but nothing could have ruined the sight of Bellamy Blake marching around camping with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, shouting out orders and sounding more like a grumpy child than a fearsome leader. But then flu hit, leaving the kids in much worse condition. There were fevers, chills, vomiting, lethargy, headaches – things that impeded work, and consequently, survival.

Bellamy had not been happy about taking the sick off of their duties, saying that wearing out the healthy was more dangerous than forcing the sick to get some exercise. Clarke argued that he just didn’t understand what it was like to have the flu, since the last case of flu on the Ark had been cured 35 years before he’d been born.

“If they’re not dying, then I don’t see why they shouldn’t pull their weight,” was all he said in response.

Then Octavia got sick, and everything changed.

“Clarke!” He bellowed, even though she was standing just a few feet away. “Clarke! She’s burning up!”

“Yes, Bellamy, that tends to happen when someone has a fever,” Clarke answered, mostly patiently, but somewhat condescendingly. She turned back to Miller, who was shaking uncontrollably, and tucked a blanket around him, leaving only his head free. He stopped shivering as hard, and the lines on his face seemed to soften.

“Clarke!” She stood up and sighed. Miller laughed softly, half-asleep. “Clarke!”

“What, Bellamy?” Clarke rolled her head, feeling the vertebrae in her neck crack. “Is she dying?”

“What?” Bellamy looked down at his sister, who was sleeping fitfully. “No, I don’t think so-”

“Then it can wait.” Clarke grabbed a clean washcloth and dipped it in the basin of cold water. She wrung it out, then handed it to Bellamy. “There are eight other people in here with the flu. They all have fevers, they will all be fine.”

Frown deepening, Bellamy snatched the washcloth from Clarke and began dabbing it on Octavia’s forehead. “I’ve never seen her like this?”

“Asleep?” Clarke didn’t mean to snap, but she was tired and probably coming down with the flu herself and just wished Bellamy would calm down. “She’s fine.”

“You don’t have a sister,” Bellamy said, voice tight. “You don’t understand.”

It was only the intense look of concern on his face that kept Clarke from making some snide remark. Instead, she sighed, and squeezed his shoulder as she headed towards the door. She needed fresh air and a five minute break.

“Wait.” Bellamy reached out and grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t leave.”

Clarke turned to look back at him and saw a second meaning in his eyes: _I’m scared_.

“Okay,” Clarke said, but she meant: _Octavia’s strong. She’ll be okay._

She kneeled down beside Bellamy, taking the washcloth from his hand. As she dabbed the cool water along Octavia’s neck, Bellamy stroked his sister’s hair, fingers lingering at her temples.

They sat in silence together until Octavia stirred, asking for water. Bellamy hopped up to get it for her, and when he returned Clarke had moved to check on Miller again.

* * *

 

By the third time Clarke noticed the doubled meanings in their conversations, she’d gotten pretty used to it. It was weird, sure, but maybe it just meant they were friends, or at least very good co-leaders.

Snow dusted the ground, and Clarke shivered. The air had grown cold and sharp, like steel, and everywhere around her the teenagers were reacting in the ways they knew how: moonshine was flowing, a crowd danced around a bonfire, and every now and then a couple would sneak off into a tent, holding hand and giggling.

Clarke drew her jacket tighter around her, scooting as close to the fire as she could without being trampled by the dancing kids. Jasper shimmied by, followed closely by Harper. A little ways away, a group of girls were pleading with Miller to dance, but the stoic boy just shook his head. Clarke felt a pang of loneliness in her gut, and, not for the first time, wished Wells were here, by her side.

“Not gonna join in the fun, Princess?” Bellamy plopped down on the log next to her, holding his own cup of moonshine. It was the first time Clarke had seen him drink in a long time.

"No, not really in the mood." She shivered a little, staring into the fire as Monty and Octavia twirled past, laughing.

Bellamy moved a little closer, eyeing Monty suspiciously. Clarke closed her eyes, relishing the warmth that radiated from his body.

"I know I shouldn't be indulging your overprotective streak," she said. "But you don't need to worry about Monty."

"He's a good kid," Bellamy conceded, brows furrowing together. "But she's my sister. I worry."

"That's not what I meant," Clarke said. "One, she's pretty in love with Lincoln, if you hadn't noticed."

Bellamy's glare was now directed at her, but she just shrugged. She'd grown pretty used to his angry faces.

As long as he was sitting there, keeping her warm, he could grumble and scowl all he wanted.

"And two, Monty's gay. He's one of the few boys in this camp who doesn't want to sleep with Octavia."

This made Bellamy relax for a second, then he tensed again. "One of the few?"

Clarke shrugged again, smirking a little. "Everyone thinks Octavia's hot. Boys, girls, whatever."

"Please stop talking," Bellamy muttered, before taking a long draw of his moonshine.

"But Monty, you don't need to worry about him," Clarke said. "You know, in your quest to be a protective jackass.”

"Alright, I'm leaving," Bellamy said, standing abruptly. Clarke whined at the sudden loss of warmth, and reached out to grab his hand. He turned, eyebrows raised.

"Please, don't leave," Clarke said. "I'll be nice." But what she meant was: _you are really, really warm._

It took Bellamy a second, but when he noticed her shivering, he just laughed and sat back down. He downed the rest of his moonshine in one gulp, then shed his jacket and wrapped it around Clarke's shoulders.

"No, Bellamy, you'll catch cold-"

"Just shut up and take the jacket, Princess."

Clarke pressed her lips together tightly, but snuggled gratefully into the body-warmed jacket. It smelled strongly of smoke and mud, with just a hint of Bellamy.

Whether it was the moonshine or sheer will, Bellamy did not shiver in the cold night air. Instead, he leaned his head back and took a slow, deep breath. Clarke watched the rise and fall of his chest, suddenly very thankful that he was there, with her, alive.

She tore her eyes away when Bellamy began to chuckle. He was looking out across the fire, watching something with an amused grin. Clarke followed his gaze to where Monty had grabbed Miller's hands and was spinning them both in circles. Clarke had never seen Miller smile before, and it was not as she had expected: shy, sweet, warm.

"Clarke!" Jasper appeared in front of her, bouncing on his toes. "Dance with me!"

"Not tonight, Jasper," she said. "I really don't-"

"Go dance with him," Bellamy said, smiling a little. "You need to have a little fun."

Clarke bit her lip, then shed his jacket and draped it back over his shoulders. "Alright, Jasper," she said. "If King Bellamy commands it…”

Jasper grinned and pulled her into the dancing throng. When Clarke looked back over, a few minutes later, Bellamy had disappeared.

* * *

 

After being separated from Bellamy for so long, Clarke was startled upon their reunion to be reminded of the unsaid meanings in their conversations. It was jarring, after her time feeling isolated and paranoid in Mount Weather, to talk to someone who understood her, who thought the way she did, who had the same goals and who could share the burden of leadership.

Out of everyone, Abby seemed the most taken aback by Clarke and Bellamy’s nuanced communication. They could have an entire conversation in just a few words, which left Chancellor Griffin both lost and unsettled.

It was a great feeling, being reunited with her co-leader. But there were some burdens that even Bellamy couldn’t share with her...

* * *

 

Finn was dead.

Finn was dead because she’d _killed_ him.

When she'd returned, hands bloody and shaking, Raven had been on the ground, sobbing, held upright only by Bellamy. He'd met Clarke's eyes as she walked past, and where she thought there would have been disappointment or pity, there was only understanding.

_It had to be done._

His past words came back to her, but they weren't comforting now. Her mother had tried to stop her, to tell her it was okay, that everything would be okay, but the fear in her eyes gave away her horror at what Clarke had done. Clarke didn’t mind it; her first week on the ground, it would have horrified her too. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She was a killer now, many times over.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in her tent, staring at her hands – now washed of Finn’s blood, physically – before Bellamy came in. Other people had come by to talk to her, her mother the most insistent, but she had sent them all away. It felt like ice had formed in her gut, and was slowly spreading up her spine. The tears had stopped a while ago; now everything was just numb.

“Clarke.” There was no question in this word. It didn’t mean: _Are you okay?_ or _How could you do that?_ or _What now?_ It was just her name, said gently, calmly.

She didn’t reply. There was nothing she wanted to hear from anyone. All she wanted was for Finn to be alive, to scrub his blood from her hands permanently, and no one in the world could do that for her.

Bellamy knelt down beside her, his large, warm hand clasping her shoulder. He rubbed small circles into the base of her neck with his thumb, rough with calluses, and said, “Raven’s asleep. Your mom gave her some drugs to knock her out. She said she tried to bring you some, but you wouldn’t talk to her.”

Again, Clarke didn’t respond. It was childish, yes, but silence unnerved people, and made them leave faster. Still, Bellamy’s hand on the back of her neck was warm and nice, and he didn’t talk to her like she was a cornered animal, rabid and scared. He simply held out a cup of medicine, like he was handing her a gun or a compass, and they were just two leaders trying to keep a bunch of criminal teenagers alive.

Bellamy sighed, not unkindly, and set the drug down. “I’ll leave you alone. Just…try to get some sleep, Clarke. Okay?”

He stood and turned to leave, but Clarke spoke before she could even think. “Please…don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

Bellamy walked around and crouched in front of her, cupping her cheek in his hand. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and understood what she meant: _I’ll never forgive myself._

“You did what had to be done,” he murmured, resting his forehead against her. “You saved him from a slow, painful death. You saved our people from war.”

The tears Clarke thought had run out hours ago sprang up in her eyes, and a small sob bubbled from her lips. She fell forward, tucking her face into Bellamy’s neck, hands grasping tightly at the front of his shirt.

“Let me carry some of that weight, Clarke,” he said, voice softer still. “You don’t have to carry your guilt alone. You forgave me when I killed those three hundred people on the Ark – now let me forgive you.”

Clarke sobbed harder, and Bellamy wrapped his arms around her shoulders tightly. They sat like that until Clarke finally cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, she was in her bed, and Bellamy was on the ground, propped up and facing the tent opening like he’d been guarding her all night. Clarke didn’t smile, but for the first time since she had reunited with Finn, she almost felt like it.

* * *

 

It was early morning, and Clarke could hear the seagulls calling out, circling above. A breeze tickled her face, warm and soft. They’d been settled by the sea for a few months now, but she just couldn’t get used to the thick, salty smell of the breeze wafting in through the cabin window.

Behind her, a long, naked body shifted. The arm that had been wrapped around her waist slid away, and Bellamy grunted as he rolled onto his back, snoring gently. Clarke bit her lip to hold back laughter, then slid from under the covers to hunt for her clothes.

She and Bellamy had started sleeping together after the victory of Mount Weather, and they had started _sleeping_ together a few weeks ago, after they had successfully negotiated a trade agreement with the largest nearby clan. It was nothing, really, loneliness and adrenaline and an overwhelming need for a few moments of pleasure in a stressful, constant struggle for survival.  Clarke found her underwear and bra, and pulled them on, then searched for her shirt.

“Clarke?”

Bellamy had raised his head, blinking in confusion, and was looking around the room for her. Clarke froze; he’d never woken up when she was sneaking out before. She had no idea what to do.

“Right here,” she said. “I need to check the supplies in the med cabin, might need to gather herbs this morning.”

Bellamy groaned incoherently, flopping back down on his pillow. “Please, don’t leave.”

At first, Clarke thought she had misheard him. The words had been impossibly soft, almost a sigh. But their meaning was loud and clear: _I love you_.

There was a moment of silence, then Clarke moved and slipped back into the bed, a small smile spreading across her face.

“Never,” she whispered, and it really meant: _I love you, too._

Bellamy grinned, true and warm and bright, and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She buried her nose into his collar, and let his warmth wash over her. They were safe, they were alive, and they had a warm bed in a real cabin in a village that was _theirs_. Clarke closed her eyes, and for the first time in years, let herself relax and just be… _happy_.


End file.
